


Brno

by smaychel



Series: Management [1]
Category: MotoGP RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, In Public, Leather Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Motorcycle Sex, Motorcycles, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Sex, Underage Sex, Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaychel/pseuds/smaychel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am going to hell for writing this.</p><p>Set immediately after Pedrosa's win at Brno, Puig's being a bastard and Pedrosa is convinced to go out and celebrate.</p><p>Warnings for all kinds of wrongness. Allusions to underage, incredibly dubious notions of consent, really fucked up unhealthy relationships, Rossi being a tart, gratuitous Uccio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brno

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roadstergal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This never happened - it is a work of fiction, it is not intended to actually represent the real people involved, merely a fictional version of their public personas. No disrespect is intended, and it is not meant to imply, depict or suggest anything about these people or their lives.
> 
> I'm just writing porn about motorbikes.

The first thing you have to know is that there's no feeling in the world like winning a race. Nothing touches it, nothing even comes close. It's what Dani was born for, it's why people are alive. Rushing off the bike with thighs that ache more sweetly than they do after sex, blood full of shiver and adrenaline.

 

And today – today he was _flying_. Back and forth with Jorge in a way that had seemed almost flirtatious, and he'd been giddy with it from the start, pushing until right there at the end where he had felt him so close behind that it was like breath on the back of his neck. That moment when he'd been sure the wind itself couldn't touch him, and he'd crowed out a helpless noise instantly drowned and felt the muscles in his legs clench tight where they were spread so wide.

 

There's nothing like it, Dani thinks as he steps up on that podium, as the champagne hits him, as it drips inside his leathers, his undersuit, all fizzy on his skin. He ducks his head. There are so many people looking right at him, but for once it's all right. Because one of them's his dad, his dad who's now seen him on the best day of his whole fucking life, or so it feels in that one moment when he's still high on it all and nothing can touch him.

 

It feels like only moments later that Puig is guiding him into some vacant corner away from the public gaze to remind him exactly how touchable he is.

 

He wants to say no. He wants to say _not now, Alberto, please_. Not here. He wants to ask for this one perfect day to keep unspoiled and his, he wants to carry this feeling of being a man his father can be proud of around inside him just a little while longer.

 

He says nothing. Blindly follows the hand on his shoulder, lets him make their brief excuses. At least they'll only be a moment, the post-race song and dance has barely begun and he knows from the cold way Puig has met Dani's previous attacks of social anxiety that he won't allow them to be absent for too long from it.

 

He allows himself to be pushed back into an alcove which hides them even further from the deserted corridor. Puig is firm but not rough with him – he knows he doesn't need to be, Dani thinks somewhat bitterly, and bites at the inside of his mouth to keep from scowling.

 

“Don't pout,” Puig says. “It's ugly.”

 

Dani schools his face to blankness where he's staring at the scuffed concrete floor. “There,” Puig says. “Much better.” And he rubs the palm of his hand against Dani's crotch.

 

He hardens and flinches away at the same time, both reactions too instinctive to control. Puig and sex are so intrinsically bound up in his mind at this point that he thinks he'd get hard if Puig simply _told him to_ , but still something in him rebels, and he can't help pushing back against the wall as if he could avoid the big, hot, open-palmed hand rubbing at him so mercilessly through his leathers.

 

“Shh,” Puig says, as if Dani's spoken. “Shh.”

 

Dani squirms. Through the layers he's wearing he can barely feel Alberto's hand, just a little maddening friction – slippery undersuit and hard leather brushing against his cock. He's not sure if he wants more or less, only that he _wants_. He can feel himself sweat.

 

When he looks up Puig is watching him, all that burning attention on him, just like always. And just like always, he has no clue what to do with it. He thrusts helplessly up against the leather.

 

“Good,” Puig says. Dani blushes so hot it nearly hurts. He tries to go back to staring at the floor again, but Puig doesn't let him get away with it. “Look at me,” he says, and then those dark eyes are swallowing him up again.

 

He doesn't know what it is that Puig sees when he looks at him that has always brought that hunger to his face in response. The flex of his thighs when he's riding, perhaps; the podium; the money; the endless, blinding camera flashes. A little boy with serious eyes and too many secrets.

 

The pressure increases and before long he's thrusting into it again, rubbing his cock against Puig's hand, little helpless jerks of his hips that he can't stop. His mouth feels dry, and he's breathless. His skin's crawling, and he wants to hide his face in the curve where Alberto's neck meets his shoulder, he wants to push him away, he wants things he'll never admit, even to himself.

 

“Quickly,” Puig says. “They'll be expecting us back soon. Come on, I know you can be quick. Come on.”

 

Dani shakes his head no, but he's already too far gone, he can feel it building, unwanted and inevitable. “Uh,” he says, the little barely-there noise in his throat that he can never stop himself making when he's right on the edge of orgasm.

 

Puig grins, shark-like and delighted. “Oh, good boy,” he says, stepping right up against Dani finally, as if he wants to feel the shaky pulses against his body through the leather. “Good boy, that's it, good boy.” Dani can't help it, he's coming, Alberto pressed against him, covering him, and he's coming, oh god, he's coming in his pants, he's Puig's good little boy.

 

Afterwards, he feels wet and dirty and a little bit like he wants to cry. He feels a bit sick with himself too, for that and everything else. His pants feel warm and slick inside, and his skin is still tacky with champagne.

 

Puig inhales deeply, like he can't get enough of the smell of him like this – all sex and sweat and oil, and expensive alcohol. Dani thinks he should be disgusted, but instead he's just suddenly so very tired.

 

“I have to go shower.”

 

“No,” Puig says, and squeezes Dani's crotch gently, a soft pressure on his deflating penis and the sticky, cooling ejaculate surrounding it. Dani closes his eyes and feels numb. “There's no time. We're expected.”

 

“Alberto, _please_.”

 

But Puig simply steps back. He's already looking at his watch, his phone. “I said no. Don't make me repeat myself. Not when you've been so good today.”

 

Dani swallows. Feels miserable, then viciously stamps it down until he feels nothing again.

 

“Don't look at me like that. Just an hour, that's all, just nod and smile and answer all their little questions. Then you can leave.”

 

“And then what should I do?” Normally he'd wash himself as clean as physically possible and then go to wait in Alberto's bed. He's known how it goes since he was a teenager, Puig always has him on the night after a race. On those nights it's always the same – he waits, naked and patient and nauseous between the expensive sheets, for Puig to come and fuck him on his back while he stares at the ceiling and bites his lip until he can't help it any more, until he has to hide his face, until he's shivering and rocking his hips up and taking it like Puig wants him to. But this is different, this frantic, semi-public groping – a change from the usual routine. And Dani doesn't know whether he'll still be called for later.

 

“Whatever you like,” Puig says, and then smiles in a way that bares his teeth. “Call it a night off. Why not.”

 

A night off? It feels like a test. One Dani has no idea how to pass. One more time he tries – “What do you want me to do?” and inwardly curses himself for sounding so weak to his own ears.

 

“You're a grown man, Dani,” he says, with a cool note of laughter in his voice, as if the very idea is ridiculous, as if Dani were being humoured like a child. “Do what you want.”

 

He lets himself be led back to the faces and the lights and the glory, the guiding hand back, as always, on his shoulder. It all seems dulled now, and faded at the edges. Like chipping paint or an old photograph. Dani smiles when he's told, and tries not to shudder when every movement he makes feels clammy and obscene. He escapes as soon as he's allowed – back to his motor home, his own space however temporarily, and stands under the shower until the water runs cold. He always feels better behind a locked door. He doesn't know why.

 

He tries to think what Puig would tell him to do, and watches video footage of the race until his eyes are sore and he knows every mistake he made by heart. He feels unmoored, left to his own devices like this. He sits on the bed in his comfortable jeans and wraps his arms around himself. He tells himself to get an early night so he can get up with the sun tomorrow and start training again, and the voice in his head sounds like Alberto's. His skin itches, feels somehow still dirty.

 

It is during his third shower of the evening that he's startled by banging at the metal front door loud enough to be heard over the running water.

 

*

 

Dani doesn't know how he gets into these things. Something to do with how silver-tongued Colin can be when he wants, and how spectacularly bad Dani has always been at saying no.

 

“You're coming out,” he'd said with that infuriating, easy smile, pushing his way past Dani into the trailer.

 

“Are you drunk?”

 

He'd laughed, and it was such a rich, warm sound that Dani had wanted to curl up under it. “Man, I've only had, like, five beers. Barely enough to touch the sides.”

 

Dani opens his mouth, then closes it again. Today has been so out of the ordinary he's half sure he's dreamt the lot of it. “Five beers?”

 

“Maybe that's a lot for a little guy, but -”

 

“ _Little?_ ”

 

“You know. Compact. Travel sized. Like those little bottles of alcohol you get in those-”

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dani had folded his arms over his chest, bare and still wet and shivery from where he'd jumped out of the shower and towelled himself off too quickly, only stopping to pull his jeans back on before yanking open the trailer door. He was sure his hair was a mess.

 

“I told you, taking you out.”

 

“I am not going out tonight.” But even as he was speaking, Colin was rifling through his closet, pulling shirts off hangers.

 

“Sure you are.”

 

“I can't, I have training tomorrow.”

 

“Nuh uh, no way, this is a philanthropic mission and I'm not taking no for an answer.”

 

“It's a what?”

 

“You won a race today, and now you're going to pretend you're a human being instead of some weird little robot alien and come get wasted with us to celebrate.” Colin had pulled a crisp short sleeved team shirt from its neat place in the closet.

 

“I can't,” Dani had said, even as he obediently lifted his arms one at a time for Colin to slide the shirt onto him. Colin had to stoop slightly to do up the buttons at the neck, and it seemed to take forever – big hands and too much drink, Dani thought.

 

“There we go,” he'd said at last, with a pat to Dani's head as if he were a fucking puppy. “C'mon, it'll be fun. We'll get you a girl, if you like.”

 

Some of the horror must have shown on his face, because Colin held his hands up in mock surrender and laughed again. “Okay, man, all right, no girls. I'm fine with the gay thing.”

 

No. No! “I am _not_ -”

 

“I mean, I'm not. Some are. It's all good, right?”

 

“I'm not either!”

 

“And I am totally cool with it.”

 

Dani had scrubbed his face with his hands. “Oh my god.”

 

“We'll get Cal a girl instead.”

 

“Cal already has a girl.”

 

Colin's eyes had lit up at that, and he'd nodded as if in agreement – Dani has no idea as to what. “And a _mighty fine_ one at that.”

 

“Colin, you are going to get yourself murdered tonight. You know this, right?”

 

Colin had merely laughed once again, and slung an arm around Dani's narrow shoulders, manoeuvring him out of the door.

 

*

 

Edwards and Crutchlow have their heads bent together over a miscellany of alcoholic beverages. Colin is talking right into Cal's ear, and Dani hopes fervently that whatever he's saying has nothing to do with the fineness of Cal's girl.

 

Valentino appears at his side out of nowhere, climbing over the back of the chair and then sprawling in it so low that he's almost horizontal. He smells very strongly of alcohol, and very vaguely of women's perfume.

 

“So,” he says, nodding at Cal and Colin with a smile that means trouble. “You think they are fucking?”

 

Dani nearly coughs up a hastily swallowed mouthful of the beer. He shakes his head. “Everything is sex with you.”

 

Vale grins. “Oh, don't say that like it's a bad thing.”

 

It must be the alcohol that relaxes Dani enough for a little smile to work its way out of his mouth.

 

Vale's grin widens at the sight of it, as if he's just fucking delighted. “Watch out,” he says, accent thick from the drink. “Your sense of humour is showing.”

 

Before long Vale's personal pet audience materialises at his side like an apparition out of the bar's dim, smoky air. Uccio holds out a pair of drinks – they're doing shots of something amber-coloured and vicious looking. Dani watches them exchange a look that's like a private joke, and tip them back in perfect synchrony.

 

Dani nods at Uccio when they're done. He never knows quite what to say to him, and the feeling is apparently mutual.

 

Today, though, “Congratulations,” he says.

 

Dani nods again. “Thank you.”

 

Vale grimaces, as if even the thought of today's race is enough to turn his stomach. Dani's not entirely surprised – he supposes he'd feel the same, in Vale's position.

 

Uccio just smiles, a little shy. “Puig must have been pleased.”

 

For some reason this makes Vale positively snort with laughter. At the sound, something inside Dani turns white-hot, makes his skin prickle and the alcohol in his blood grow heavy. He's squeezing his hands into tight fists without even realising it.

 

“Was he pleased enough to let you have a go on top, Dani?” He laughs again, so hard that his eyes close and crinkle at the edges. “After the way you raced today I hope he sucked you off at least.”

 

Afterwards, Dani barely remembers hitting him. Just the stinging of his knuckles once it was done, and the rock solid grip of Cal's body grabbing him tight from behind and dragging him away.

 

“Little _fucker_ ,” someone says in a sharp Italian accent, but Dani's too wound up to tell if it's Valentino or, god help him, demure little Uccio.

 

Cal doesn't stop to let him find out. He manhandles him from the bar with a nod to the door staff, drags him outside and round the corner where it's suddenly quiet and unlit and too damn cold – a corner of the place that even the seemingly ever-present huddles of students have abandoned. This is a funny city, Dani thinks a bit hysterically as he wraps his arms around himself and glowers silently at the road. Shabby and beautiful all at once. He shivers. He feels too drunk, now, numb and maybe just a little homesick. When he looks up Cal's watching him, tight-mouthed and wary.

 

“I think you need to walk it off a bit, mate, yeah?”

 

He looks back at his feet again. “Yes,” he says.

 

*

 

It's nearly three in the morning when Vale and his shadow come knocking at his door, but Dani isn't asleep. He's not anywhere near it.

 

“We're going to talk,” Vale says, so Dani lets them in. He's pretty sure that they're not here to fight him, and if they are then he figures he probably deserves it. Still, he's nervous – unused to anyone except Puig in his private rooms.

 

Valentino sits back on Dani's bed as if he belongs there, leaning against the wall like he owns the place. There's a fresh bruise all red-purple at the corner of his mouth where Dani hit him, he keeps poking at it with his tongue as if it fascinates him, as if he can't leave it alone. Uccio remains standing. Dani hovers, a bit lost, a bit wretched.

 

“Sit,” Vale says, so Dani perches on the end of his own bed.

 

Vale sighs – a big, exaggerated sound. “You know I was only joking. Before.”

 

“I know.” He'd known it at the time, really, but the joke had hit too close to the truth, too close to an open wound and it had _stung_ him, made him mad in a way that only certain things can.

 

“But now...”

 

“Now you know.” He bites the words off, hard and clipped, without meeting his eyes.

 

When he looks up, Vale's watching him with something so like pity it makes Dani's eyes blur. It makes him _angry_ again, because he's not some princess to be rescued, god _damn_ it, he's a man who is very nearly the best in the world at what he does. Some day he's going to prove it. He can feel how close he is all the time, getting closer to the day he leaves the whole world in the fucking dust.

 

“Now I'm not joking,” Vale says.

 

Dani's shoulders slump, and he feels all the fight drain from him like sand. Tonight has been such a disaster. Brawling in a bar like some lout, and Puig is going to murder him when he finds out. He's going to be in so much trouble that he's actually a little frightened of it. A lot more frightened of the disappointment he knows he'll see on Puig's face.

 

“This thing with you and the old man. Is it...” Dani's not sure what he's expecting at the end of that sentence, but he feels his teeth clench and his palm itch to make a fist again. Vale gestures with a slim, long-fingered hand. “Exclusive?”

 

“What?”

 

“Exclusive,” Vale repeats, slowly, as if it's the fucking language barrier that Dani's struggling to get over.

 

“It... we...” He's not used to speaking about it, least of all in English, not used to doing anything but vehemently deny that it exists. And in any case, what would he say? There is no answer to that question. “I don't think Alberto...” He doesn't think he'd like it. But he can't say it, can't so brazenly admit that it's really happening.

 

“I see,” Vale says, as if it's all perfectly clear. “He doesn't want anybody else getting their sticky fingers on his shiny little toy.”

 

Dani feels himself go red, feels his skin get hot right down to his chest. “Shut up.”

 

“I have been thinking about it. Whatever it is that he does to you... I don't like it.”

 

“It has got nothing to do with you,” Dani spits.

 

“It could.” Vale lets that hang in the air, watching Dani with a remarkably placid expression that seems out of place on his usually so animated face. Dani has no idea what Vale is offering, if anything.

 

He's almost forgotten that Uccio is there until Vale looks over to him – another of those secret, silent conversations.

 

“Let us say for now, though, that we are willing to stick to the letter of the law, if not the spirit.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“It means no naughty touching, pretty toy.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Vale just laughs. “Not yet. That's the point.”

 

“Not ever.”

 

Vale's still smiling, all that cocky self-assurance brightly visible. “I've seen the way you look at me on the track, Pedrosa. Full of lust.”

 

Because you ride like a whore, Dani wants to say. Because you ride like it makes you wet. “For the way you race, not for _you_.”

 

“It's the same thing, with us. Isn't it?”

 

Dani says nothing. He wants to punch Valentino again, wants to watch him lick his lips like that forever, wants to fuck him, to ride him like a bike.

 

“You're already hard, Dani.”

 

He jumps to his feet like he's been burned and turns away so they can't see him, hot with shame and confusion and maybe, maybe, something like lust.

 

He hears movement behind him – the rustle of bed sheets, the obscene sound of a zip being undone.

 

When he looks around, it's to the breath-halting sight of Valentino Rossi on his knees. He's on the floor at Uccio's feet, hands already on Uccio's hips, holding him steady against the wall. Uccio's pants are undone and he seems awkward, a little self-conscious, like he doesn't know where to put his hands or his eyes. Dani almost feels sorry for him, until Vale mumbles something in Italian that Dani can't catch and their eyes lock, Uccio and Vale, and then they're grinning at each other. Uccio's fingers slip across Vale's too-short hair as if they're used to having more to grip on to, and he's looking down with utter, naked adoration. Vale seems to bask in it.

 

Dani feels like he's watching something that's both very private and utterly exhibitionist. The two men's eyes never leave each other as Vale says “Stop moping, Pedrosa,” and licks a wet stripe up Uccio's fat cock. “Come and sit down, enjoy the little show.”

 

Dani reflects that he is, after all, very bad indeed at saying no. He sits back on the edge of the bed and watches Vale give his friend the sloppiest blow job he's ever seen, all spit and tongue and no finesse. It's so hot that Dani aches with it, his own cock hard and tight against his jeans.

 

He's never considered himself gay before – never considered himself _anything_ , but gay least of all. And yes, he knows that it doesn't make sense; knows what this, this thing he has with Alberto looks like, but it's not like that. It's not. It's just that he's never been allowed to get off unless Puig was there. It's a rule, it's been a rule since he started getting off at all and Puig would make Dani masturbate while he put his fingers up inside him and watched Dani squirm. It's been that way for so long now that he doubts he could come at all without Puig telling him to.

 

Does that make him gay? The guys all say the word like it means weak, perverted, someone's bitch. He thinks they would probably consider his relationship to Puig all of those things. He wonders if he'd have been gay if he'd been left alone, left to grow up without Puig's influence. He dismisses the thought quickly. Without Alberto he'd be nothing, nobody. He'd never be where he is now. That's all that matters, in the end. There's always a price.

 

Uccio's making noises like he's losing control, little grunts and whimpers like a porn soundtrack in the otherwise silent room. He's pressing his open hands against the wall behind him as if he doesn't trust them otherwise. His eyes are still locked with Vale's, and he looks desperate. He looks wrecked. Vale's lips are stretched wide and wet and red. Dani wonders if this is what he looks like when he's sucking Puig off, and if it is he can understand why Puig likes it so much.

 

Vale pulls back and murmurs again, voice low and ragged, and Ucchio's eyes go wide. His hands move unsteadily from the wall to the back of Vale's skull. When Vale dips his head back onto his cock Uccio begins thrusting helplessly, tiny little jerks into Vale's throat that have Uccio gasping obscenities in Italian.

 

It's very clear to Dani that they've done this before. Fuck, it's even clear that they've done it for an audience. He thinks of all the times Uccio has bashfully told people that Vale gets all the girls, and wonders if that's a half-truth. Wonders if maybe they share them.

 

He tries not to think about how that would make him the girl in this situation, and instead undoes his jeans. Touching himself like this is not allowed, not without Puig, but that somehow just makes it thrilling, more salacious. It feels new. Probably because this is the first time he's done it without _permission_. When he was younger he'd been so sure that Puig knew everything, every stray thought in his mind, and he would never have dared it. By the time he was older the obedience had become so ingrained he would never have thought to question it.

 

It's nerve wracking too, in its own way, the feel of his own hand on his cock, and he fights the urge to look behind him and check if he's being watched by someone unseen. He's a bit dizzy with the tension, doesn't think he'll be able to enjoy it too much, certainly not enough to orgasm – but he can't keep his greedy hands off himself nonetheless. It's too much – the harsh, pornographic sounds of heavy breathing and wet flesh; Valentino's pretty mouth and wicked grin, his dirty promises. He grips himself hard, subconsciously mimicking the way Puig strokes him off.

 

When Uccio finally tears his eyes away from Vale and looks up, Dani blushes once again. But Uccio just tips his head back and moans, and pants out words Dani can't understand. One of his hands tangles with Vale's and holds it tight, the other coaxes Vale's mouth faster and further down his cock, demanding and tender in the same breath.

 

Dani squeezes his prick.

 

He knows when Uccio comes because his rhythm falls all to pieces, and he winds up holding Vale still while he groans out his orgasm. Vale hums around his cock: a low, needy sound. He must swallow it all, because when Uccio lets him go there's nothing but breathless panting and that flushed, wicked mouth still bruised at the corner. Vale licks his lips and Dani bites his own lip to stop himself whimpering like a girl in response.

 

Uccio sinks to the floor and kneels there forehead to forehead with Valentino. Dani watches them catch their breath, watches Uccio rub his thumb on Vale's mouth like it's an act of endearment. They're both grinning that same private smile, the one it feels like an intrusion to look at from the outside.

 

 _They all do it,_ Puig had told him. _But no one talks about it. Not ever. Do you understand?_ He'd nodded so unquestioningly at the time, but after years had passed and he'd gotten to know these men, he'd been unable to believe it was true. Now, though... maybe Puig was right all along, because Vale is grinning up at him now, edging closer on his hands and knees like something out of a wet dream.

 

He stops just close enough that Dani could reach out and touch him if he wanted, put his fingers in that beautiful mouth, draw him forward. Vale's sticking to his version of the rules, though, and he's not touching Dani at all.

 

Dani's hand stills on his cock. “I don't think I can,” he says.

 

Vale's smiling at him, so warm. “Of course you can.”

 

But he can't. His body won't do it, craves permission from its fucking master. He can't. He shakes his head.

 

“Touch it. Go on, I'm telling you to.”

 

Dani fights off a wave of anxiety. Obeys, as always. He takes his cock in his hand again. Vale's mouth is mere inches away – when he speaks Dani can feel his breath in the most intimate way.

 

“I want to have you on your bike,” Vale says, and Dani's pulse skitters. He swallows and it sounds too loud. He rubs his cock. “I want to have you on the fucking track.”

 

“Please,” Dani says, and he doesn't know what he's asking for.

 

Vale just smiles. “Faster.”

 

He's jerking off in earnest now, Vale's filthy words overcoming even the shame he feels at needing someone to talk him through a fucking hand job.

 

“You're going to come for me Dani.”

 

“No,” he moans, but he already knows it's a lie.

 

“Yes,” Vale says with a grin. “You're going to come on my face, aren't you? Right here. Don't try to tell me you've never thought of it.”

 

The sweet flood of arousal that thought sends through him is almost too much to bear. In the corner Uccio is sprawled against a wall watching them with flushed cheeks and a lazy smile, and Dani has to _work_ with these guys, has to walk out of here tomorrow and stand next to them like nothing's changed, like they haven't spent a night spreading him open and exposing all his secrets.

 

He's frightened by it, by the leverage this gives them, by what Alberto will say when he inevitably finds out.

 

“Stop thinking,” Vale says. “This is always your problem, you over think.”

 

“I-I'm going to-”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

It takes him like a wave. Like a force of nature. The first orgasm of his life without Alberto orchestrating it. He rides it for a brief, dizzying moment before he's swept away, coming in thick spurts on Valentino's eager face. Cheekbones, eyelashes, those pretty lips. He's only just aware that he's swearing over and over in Spanish. He forces himself to keep his eyes open as the feeling burns its way through him, on and on. He wants to remember forever how Vale looked on his knees with his face smeared with come.

 

Vale's smile widens and his tongue flicks out to taste it.

 

“Jesus,” Dani says, still shaking. “Jesus.”

 

*

 

Under the pale sheets Dani curls himself up tight, wraps his arms around his knees and tries to sleep. He's tired enough that it should come easy, but it doesn't.

 

He thinks about Valentino, who didn't get off, who had left with his cock still hard in his pants and an arm around Uccio's shoulders. He wonders if they're sleeping together, crowded into the same fold out bed as so many of the boys seem to do. Are they all fucking? He can't make any sense of it all any more, it makes his head hurt.

 

“We'll see you tomorrow,” Vale had said, and it had felt like a promise of some sort. He'd known then, bone deep, that Valentino would finish ahead of him in the next race.

 

Outside Dani can hear the wind raging like it's angry. In fucking August, as well. It's a weird city.

 

With the little part of him that's not degraded and broken, not desecrated, he wonders how his dad's doing. But then his head fills with Puig's voice telling him what a good boy he is, and he shakes and shakes.

 

The wind lulls him to sleep.


End file.
